


We should all burn together

by brokxnharry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Crying Stiles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode: s03e06 Motel California, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Nogitsune, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, but this is all stiles and scott, crying everybody, crying scott, mentions of all characters basically, might be triggering so be careful, scott almost kills himself, stiles and scott are friends????, stiles is all he's got, they almost kiss though, they shower together instead, tw for anxiety just in case, tw for suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8031967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: Scott almost sets himself on fire. Stiles is the only one there to stop him. Or maybe go with him.
((Basically I wanted more of a Stiles/Scott moment in that suicide attempt scene and I also wanted more of panicked Stiles so this happened.))
I don't own any of the characters of Teen Wolf of course.





	We should all burn together

**Author's Note:**

> Be ware of the tags before reading because I wouldn't want anyone getting triggered by this. Take care of yourselves.   
> The title is from the song I see fire by ed sheeran because duh.  
> I hope you enjoy this, please don't forget to comment or give kudos or even both preferably :)  
> Read along!

They were on the ground. Heat was blanketing them. The only source of light through the starless night was the fire. The still burning, seemingly never ending, fire. The fire that had almost taken Scott away. Had almost burned the only friend Stiles had ever had down to ashes.

Stiles was still holding onto Scott. His hands were shaking. Or maybe it was the rest of his body. His chest was filling up with smoke and sweat and panic. Panic that he could no longer stomach, could no longer hold down. His body was bursting with anxiety and he could feel himself imploding. Nothing was leaving him. He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't ask Scott for help, because Scott had his eyes squeezed shut, and he just laid there, in Stiles' trembling arms, recovering from the wolfsbane or the spell or whatever the hell else that had almost caused him to end his life. He was going to leave Stiles. He was going to kill himself. Stiles couldn't fucking believe it.

_" I fucked up, Stiles. I hurt so many people. Did so many awful things. I- I don't know how I can live with it. With myself."_

_" You will because you have to. Because this- this has never been an option, Scott. We can't do this to each other. We can't just leave. We stay and we fight and we break and be slightly put together but not really. That's all we get. That's how it is for us, Scott."_

_" But I'm so tired, Stiles. So fucking tired. I just- I want out. I don't- I can't do this anymore. I can’t."_

_" And I can't do it without you, Scott. I- I don't exist, if you don't."_

_" You don't mean that."_

_" I do. Listen to my heartbeat. I'm telling the truth."_

_" I can't. It's too loud in my head."_

Stiles had almost broken down. Had almost collapsed to his knees and begged for his friend to not leave him too, to not put him through this because he was selfish and he was certain he wouldn’t be able to make it this time. He had felt pieces of him dying away already, simply at the possibility of losing Scott.

_"_ _You're my best friend, Scott. The only constant that's ever been there when everything else came and went. Mum died. Dad started drinking. How do you think I made it through all that shit? Do you think I never did this, never gotten this close to just… ending it? Scott. You were never nothing. And neither was I. We can never be nothing when we mean this much to each other."_

And that had done it. Scott had cried, letting go of all he'd once held onto, and Stiles had caught him, of course he had, but the fire still started and it had almost taken them with it and Stiles hadn't minded because at least he'd have gone out with Scott. **_For_** Scott. Like he'd always been supposed to.

The red was as angry as Scott's eyes, as vibrant as the blood Stiles woke up to, for days after Gerard had finally let him go. The orange was as intense as the color of the sky as the sun came down, on that day that Scott had gotten bitten. The yellow was as sickly as Scott's skin, after nights of waking up to nightmares that were almost as horrible as the reality he now had to endure. But the black. The black was as overwhelming as Gerard's blood when he'd bled out before disappearing. As striking as the night's sky when Stiles was running through the woods, looking for his best friend on his first full moon. As dark as all the places in Stiles' head, in Scott's, that they refused to visit. Until they finally caught up with them, bringing Scott so close to the edge, Stiles almost thought he'd fall. He'd go and he wouldn't be able to stop him. Stiles finally gave in to the panic attack that had been lurking for days now, weeks even, since the Alpha pack had come and Stiles had realized the toll it had on his friend, on all his friends.

" Stiles," Stiles almost didn't feel Scott's head lifting, didn't feel the shift in his arms, the release, the faltering grasp, the alert shake. His heart was pounding too hard, he thought it'd draw a hole through his ribcage. The trembling was so intense, it felt like convulsing, like his body was attempting to rid itself of the worry, of the fear and helplessness. Like he was trying to sweat out all thoughts of loss. Losing his mother. Almost losing Scott, or his father, or Lydia, or any of the people he loved so fucking much, and couldn't protect. Couldn't keep.

" Hey, hey, Stiles, are you okay? Are you hurt? Talk to me." Scott was holding Stiles down, or he was holding him together. He was touching him, trying to get through to him, trying to understand. But Scott smelled too strongly of gasoline and smoke and burning. He felt too much like home and it broke Stiles. It shattered him. He couldn't breathe.

" Is this a panic attack? Is that it?" Scott had been there for a lot of them. And he never knew what to do with himself. For Stiles.

He'd seen Stiles' first; when they were both too young to label it, too frightened to think of the possibilities of something being wrong with Stiles' mind. Something that doctors couldn't fix. Again. Scott had been there for most of the attacks after diagnosing Stiles with anxiety and depression and a bunch of other stuff that he had to learn to live with, to soldier through. And even when Scott hadn't been there, Stiles had called him, because hearing Scott's voice sometimes anchored him. Kept him present. Kept him awake, when unconsciousness was closing in on him, and he was too scared to pass out alone and hurt himself somehow.

Stiles gasped out when he tried to respond. Tried to make it better. To reassure Scott that he was fine. That everything would be fine. And he just needed to shower and take all traces of this ever happening away. He just needed to be himself again and worry about that, instead of Stiles' persistent anxiety. Stiles wanted to help, he really did, but he was choking on his attempts to keep his sobs at bay. He was suffocating on the emotions he couldn't afford to feel just yet. He was being strangled by his fear of losing Scott, when he was right there. Right fucking there. And Stiles still couldn't help but miss the part of him that would be lost in that fire, taken by the suicide attempt, stripped away by what had demolished Scott to this.

" Fuck, okay, what do I do? What do we do, Stiles? I- I don't know. I don't have my inhaler on me and- I can't get your dad here. I can't take you to a hospital or- or- Stiles, tell me what do I do, please." Scott whimpered, as if seeing Stiles like this, took him back to that scared little kid, watching his best friend, fade away. It took him back to the night he was bitten and he was more scared for Stiles than his own self. To the night that Jackson had paralyzed Stiles and he told Scott he'd felt like he was dying, like he wouldn't wake up again. To the night Gerard had taken Stiles. To every single night something happened and Scott couldn't stop it. Couldn’t carry it for his friend.

" Shower. Scott. Shower." Stiles wanted to tell Scott that the gasoline was lumping in his throat and he couldn't swallow it down or throw it up. He wanted to tell him that if they stayed there any longer, Stiles would feel like he was losing Scott. Over and over again, with every time the fire roared, almost calling them over. With every speck of smoke that made its home in his nostrils. Stiles was certain he'd smell that fire on Scott for a very long time. He'd feel it burning through his skin, every time he touched him.

" Okay, yeah. Sure. I'll hold you. It'll be okay. Just breathe." Stiles cried. He was in pain and his chest felt like it was collapsing and his insides were filling up with pieces and Scott was promising him that it would be okay. That he'd hold him through it, carry his own weight for him. And Stiles believed him. Of course he did. This was Scott, and he'd never broken a promise before.

Stiles had both arms around Scott's neck. Scott's arms were circled around Stiles' waist. They didn't know which of them was holding the other. Scott stood up first, lifting Stiles with him, but his legs gave out. Stiles felt boneless, spineless, like Scott was the only thing keeping him from slipping away.

" Okay, I've got you, buddy. You'll be just fine."

" Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry."

_Sorry I couldn't help this. Sorry you had to help me when you're the one who needed help. Sorry I was almost too late. Sorry I pushed you down too hard. Sorry I wasn't there earlier, wasn't there more. Sorry I took you with me that night. Sorry you were the one who got bitten. Sorry for every single night since. Sorry for the weight on your shoulders because of me. Sorry. So sorry._

Stiles wanted to say more, do more, **_be_** more, but he was weak and pathetic and that panic attack was draining what was left inside him and he needed Scott. He needed him if he ever had any chance at all to survive.

" Shh, don't apologize. I- we'll talk about this. About anything you want. Just let me get you somewhere safe." Safe. All Scott ever wanted was for Stiles to be safe. To be okay and well and away from the world that was out to get him ever since he was a young boy, losing his mother to some illness that meant nothing to him. And then the actual loss and all that came with it. And then his father's drinking and Stiles' mental issues and- so much more. Too much. Stiles was never safe. But with Scott, he was close. Almost there. Almost.

Scott held Stiles, so impossibly close. He still couldn't smell past the gasoline. He couldn't smell the fear on his friend. He couldn't smell the suffering. He was almost thankful. He didn’t think his senses could handle as much.

Stiles' body was buckling under the weight of simply existing, simply being. And Scott caught him, every time. And it felt like it did; when Stiles was the one catching him, easing his fall, saving him, in every way a person could be saved. And it'd done this to him. It'd brought him into this state of paralyzing panic, of brutal anxiety that took it all away, leaving only the frightening, the ugly, the insecure, the haunting. Scott had done this to Stiles. And he would have collapsed himself, if Stiles wasn't so miserable.

Scott pushed through the door to his room, ignoring the whispers that were almost there, but not quite, ignoring the train of thoughts still moving through the walls of this room, closing in on him, willing him to listen, to get on that train or be crushed by it. And it felt like he was both. He'd gotten on that train and allowed it to take him away but it threw him out and walked over him. Again and again. It walked over his best friend too. And Scott almost couldn't live with it.

" We're here, Stiles. We're here."

Stiles' eyes were unfocused, rolling back to the back of his head, escaping having to look at Scott or the room that had almost buried him under or all the things that he would have left behind. Stiles would have liked to look at his friend though; to reassure him that he was fine, that he was still there, with him, for him, and he'd never leave. But his chest was still heaving and he almost wanted to stop the breathing process in hopes of easing that crushing weight on his chest, that ache spreading through him. He just wanted it to stop.

He felt the water before he was able to feel Scott's hands on him, taking away the layers, getting rid of the dirt and the smoke. The water was too cold and he relished upon the feeling. He was too hot and bothered and the coldness of the water was a nice contrast to that. It soothed him, opening his blocked airways, allowing him the first breath in hours, it felt like.

He inhaled, coughing out some of the air because his lungs still couldn't handle the pressure. Scott's hands were on his back, kind, tender, careful. Stiles leaned into it, finally able to feel Scott, relish upon his presence, his mere existence. Stiles breathed in again, and the gasoline was still there, along with the smoke and it scared him again. He turned, eyes meeting Scott, who was staring at him, questioningly, worriedly. His eyes asked a million questions that Stiles couldn't answer.

_Why are you still here? Why did you give yourself up to save me? Why didn't you leave? What are you so guilty about? Why are you always so scared? Why me? Why not you? Why you and me? Why us?_

" Are you okay?" Scott whispered instead, voice hoarse, slightly strained. Stiles kept waiting for smoke to come out with his breath, for fire to be set on his lips. But nothing happened. They both simply watched one another.

" I'm sorry." Stiles shook his head slightly. He felt exhausted and he'd barely said anything at all.

" Why are you the one who's sorry? I- I did this. I gave in and lost my mind and- I almost killed us, Stiles. I almost killed **_you_**." Stiles closed his eyes, trying to breathe around the panic clouding his chest, still. Scott had put his own name along with the word killed in the same sentence. Stiles could never be okay with hearing that.

" You weren't in your right mind. It wasn't you. You- you wouldn't have done that, right? You wouldn't think like that, Scott." Scott sighed, hands moving away from Stiles, escaping the comfort he felt like he didn't deserve, denying the reassurance his friend always seemed to offer. Scott could almost hear the exact moment when Stiles' heart broke in his chest.

" Oh God, Scott." Stiles had his hands in his hair. Scott could see them shaking. Could see Stiles' figure flaring, as if he was trying to find something else to grasp onto; something that wouldn't leave him and hurt him and cause him so much shit. Something that wouldn't admit to almost giving in, to wanting to. Something that wasn't Scott and would never be.

Stiles was walking away. There was only so much space in the bathroom before it ran out. He almost tripped over the bathtub. Scott almost caught him, almost helped him. But that was all they'd come down to; a bunch of almosts that never quite happened. That never came through. That were never enough, never really there at all.

Scott was standing beneath the running water, willing it to wash away all he'd done wrong. Losing control on all those full moon nights. Almost hurting Stiles. Kissing Lydia. Actually hurting Stiles. Watching Kate die. Watching Peter die. Putting his own self first and letting his friends get hurt over and over again. Not being there enough. Letting Derek die. Getting hurt by that alpha and not healing faster. Almost killing his friend tonight. Still wanting to kill himself. But no amount of water could erase the burden on his conscious. He couldn't be cleansed and he had to live with it. With all he'd done and all it'd done to him.

Scott closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the wall, laying his palms out, to support his weight, because although it was loud in his head, the sound of Stiles' pounding heart still overwhelmed all his senses. His breathing was ragged. Blood was rushing through his veins. It sounded like someone having a heart attack. It sounded like someone having his heart broken. Scott thought if there was ever a sound to what he'd done to Stiles; that would have been it.  

Scott could smell the gasoline dissolving away, his skin wrinkling, shrinking, as if that would somehow make him smaller. Take him back to who he once was. He could still hear Stiles but his heartbeat had slowed a bit and Scott wondered if he should just stay there, in the bathroom, away from Stiles. If that would be what was best for him.

When Scott finally walked out of the bathtub, he sat down on the bathroom floor, taking his time, feeling exhaustion seeping in through his bones, draining him to his core. He had his head in his hands, his mind reeling with thoughts, fears, theories. He didn't want to die. Of course he didn't. But living had felt like a task on its own and most days, he couldn't see the point. He knew people cared. He knew he had reasons to stay. But he couldn't help but think that maybe his reasons to leave overweighed those. Maybe leaving, would bring Stiles to the college he'd always wanted, without having to worry about his werewolf friend who was stuck protecting their hometown and its people. Maybe leaving, would give his mother the opportunity to cut back on her shifts and have a life of her own. One that wasn't so dedicated to her son, in a desperate attempt to make him not feel the abandonment of his other parent. Maybe leaving, would allow Allison the chance to fall in love again, with someone who wouldn't fuck her life up, with someone who wouldn't have to protect her from what he couldn't even protect himself from. It felt like him leaving was loaded with possibilities, with chances and opportunities and hope and-

" I just want you to know I'm not mad." Scott was too sunk into his thoughts that he didn't realize the proximity of Stiles' scent, the loudness with which his heart was now beating.

" I didn't mean it. Not like that. I-" Scott shook his head, having too many thought for words to explain them, for his mouth to fit them all into sentences and phrases and things that made sense. He slowly crawled against the bathroom floor, until his back was against the door. He had a feeling, Stiles' was as well, on the other side of things.

" I'm just scared, you know. I get scared a lot, but- actually, I am not scared. I'm terrified, man. Absolutely fucking petrified because, I could have lost you today. You were right there, and- fuck, Scott, what if you hadn't listened? What if I had jumped in too late or too hard and just- how was I supposed to live myself, having that image in my head for the rest of my life? Without you? How does that even work?" Stiles' voice broke and so did Scott's heart. There were just too many pieces between the two of them, too many things that would never be the same again.

Scott hit his head against the door.

" Stiles. I- I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say. I don't want to die, I don't think, but I- living like this is so exhausting, man. So fucking exhausting." It was silent for a bit too long, and Scott tried to focus all his senses to hear something, to feel or smell something. But things inside him were still struggling to recharge and Stiles left him with very little.

" I'm sorry." Scott repeated, for whoever cared enough to listen.  

" Can you… not apologize? Not for this. God, Scott. I did this to you. I- I don't know how I'm ever going to make it up for you, how I can ever fix this, but- it's at times like these that I wish I'd never taken you with me that night into the woods. I wish, I wish I could have taken that bite for you, and none of this would have happened and Scott, I-" Stiles gasped, but it wasn't anxiety or asthma or any of that, it was him swallowing away the sob that broke through barely a moment later, " I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry, Scott."

It was all out, in the air they were both choking on. One for his guilt. The other for his helplessness. No one had taught them how to deal with a suicidal best friend. Or a friend with the weight of the world on his shoulder. No one had given them a handbook to how to handle the supernatural world without losing themselves in the process. No one was there but the both of them and no one knew how much pain they were feeling in that moment of utter surrender.

Scott opened the door without thinking, without even meaning to. His arms circled around Stiles and he was immediately pulled into him. Into Scott; his best friend. And things weren't okay, not even close, but they were a little better than they had been a few minutes ago.

" I'd do it again if it meant you wouldn't have to. I made that choice, Stiles, not you. Never you. You can't blame yourself for that, for any of it." Scott knew Stiles wouldn't believe him, wouldn't take his word for it. It was too hard for Stiles to make sense of anything without seeing his fault in it. It was easier for him to carry the weight of the world, instead of searching for reasons and excuses and answers that he probably would never find. They'd never suffice. He just had too big of a heart and sometimes it overflowed with sadness and guilt and doubt.

Stiles still couldn't find his voice. He couldn't pull it together. He was coming undone, tearing apart and tearing down and just… tearing. And it didn't feel right but it was the best he could do at the moment.

Scott was there. Right there. Holding him closer with every choked breath he couldn't take. Every sob that broke Scott's heart a little further. He held him so close he feared he was the one causing his breathlessness. But it didn't matter. They were all they had and they had to make it work. They had to be enough. Scott couldn't help but think that he didn't want to leave Stiles behind. He'd never wanted that. He didn't know if that was selfish or selfless or a twisted inbetween. He couldn't bring himself to care, because Stiles needed him, and that had to count for something.

It took Stiles about half an hour of consistent, heart wrenching, excruciating, crying, before he sagged against his friend, losing stamina, and grip, and most of his consciousness. He wasn't really asleep, but he wasn't all that awake either, as Scott helped him into his own bed. He covered him in blankets knowing how cold he normally got after a panic attack this bad. And when Scott turned away, Stiles still had his hand around his, grounding him.

A whispered "stay" was all Scott needed to do so, laying next to his friend, but leaving the covers on Stiles. He didn't need any extra heat. Scott almost always felt overheated anyway. He wondered if his wolf powers would someday melt him completely away.

Scott couldn't sleep. His mind was reeling with thought of life and death and something else that didn't feel like either. Which was probably where he was stuck, taking Stiles with him without meaning to. He could smell the exhaustion on his friend, along with the desperation, the fear. Scott wanted to cry because even in his sleep, Stiles couldn't escape it. Scott had done that to him. Scott had done a lot of things to him.

Scott felt the sudden urge to hold him, because he could feel his mind driving him away, and he really wanted to stay. He knew he had to. So he turned to his side and put his hands in the air, inching them closer before pulling them back. It felt like if he touched his friend again, he'd only harm him further. It felt like he wasn't entitled to. Like he lost the right to touch him when he'd almost left him.

" Jesus Christ, Scott. If I had werewolf powers, you would have stunk of overthinking. I can literally hear the gears turning in your head." Stiles smiled, squinting one eye opened to see if Scott was smiling too. And he was.

Stiles turned onto his side, facing Scott, who had retrieved his hands, to support the weight of his own body.

" You okay?" Stiles questioned, features so kind, so caring and open, like Scott could literally say anything, and Stiles would be okay with it.

" Yeah. Just thinking about all that happened. All the things you said."

" I was in the middle of a panic attack. Most of it was my anxiety speaking. I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

" So you don't feel any guilt for what happened that night in the woods?" Scott could see how Stiles' face fell, how his eyes dimmed in something more than tiredness, how he somehow aged, the more he thought about it.

" I do. There's not a state in which I would be, where I wouldn't regret that night, where I wouldn't wish to take it all back."

" I wouldn't want you to. I got bitten and yeah, it sucks sometimes, but Stiles, think of how many lives we saved. Think of how much evil we fought against. We won some and we lost some but that's okay. That's just how things happen. I need you to know that I don't regret what happened that night. And I also wouldn't wish it upon you. You're Stiles. You kick ass, with or without werewolf powers." Stiles laughed at that. It was short-lived and not nearly as lively as Stiles' laughter normally was, but it was there, and Scott's heart leapt in joy, in reassurance.

" I kind of do, don't I? I mean, I saved your life today, which by the way, you should never make me do again. I never want to have to do it again, Scott, okay? Possessed or under a spell or just plain nuts, I don't care. I never want a redo of today."

" What, you mean to tell me that almost burning us both alive wasn't the least bit exhilarating or amusing to you? I should probably think of more creative ways to do it next time."

" Too fucking soon, you asshole." Stiles punched Scott's arm, but there was nothing behind it. He laughed again. And this time, so did Scott.

And yeah, maybe humor was a coping mechanism for them to avoid having to face the reality of the situation. And maybe it was only them bottling it all up inside, for another burst, on some other day. But it was Scott and Stiles and they'd been through hell and back just on that day, so if laughing was how they'd get through it, then they'd take it. They'd take anything, as long as they were together, more or less okay, and in almost one piece.


End file.
